As the gardens brim with green shoots and April showers, my thoughts keep returning to my mysterious preoccupation with Roses this winter.

Anyone looking at the gardens might question my use of the word mysterious as the gardens already abound with Roses indicating my attraction to Roses was already quite well developed. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that all during the darkness of the winter season and my time of enforced quiet with my broken arm, Roses filled the space. Yet somehow it does still strike me as mysterious that Roses are calling so loudly and clamoring to be added to the gardens here. There are probably at least five or six dozen roses here already. What is it about Roses?

In the early days of my recuperation, Roses kept me going. I had several old Rose books awaiting me on my bedside table when I fell, and this was wonderfully fortuitous. I was particularly excited to read The Old Shrub Roses by Graham Stuart Thomas, one of the most beloved Rose gardeners and Rose lovers of the last century.

Another book that delighted me was about efforts in the 1970’s to save many old Roses from extinction by collecting cuttings from Texas graveyards as well as the abandoned homes of the miners of the California gold rush. The gold rush happened during a period when the French were highly focused on breeding new Roses. Empress Josephine began the craze when she insisted Napoleon bring her back Roses from everywhere he conquered. Her collection at Malmaison got cross pollinated by bees and the wind, resulting in new Rose creations, and Malmaison’s gardeners also got interested in deliberately mixing these different Roses together to see what would happen. The resulting Roses were spectacular and greatly enlarged the family of Roses.

I find it quite amazing that people would go off to their gold rush claim with a rose cutting from France in their satchels and that a little more than a century later these cuttings gone wild would save a lot of Roses from extinction.

I was also enchanted by a book from the 1950’s entitled, My Friend the Rose by the founder of a lovely old fashioned Rose company called Roses of Yesterday and Today. It is still a place I get Roses. In fact, I expect a shipment from them any moment now!

For many days, I read these books over and over. They created a sort of lifeline, linking me to a continued life in the gardens even as I was having problems with tasks like dressing myself. The books comforted me, gave me hope and felt very expansive.

The first time I picked up a pen, it was to write a scathing commentary on one of the Rose books that I did not like. It was a collection of essays written by famous gardeners on their favorite Roses. This sounded like a nice topic that would result in a sweet book but it was a nasty book full of gardeners writing about why they hated Roses or at the very least found them a troublesome bother. One essay was by Christopher Lloyd who inherited his garden, Great Dixter, from his father. At his father’s death, it seemed he had been waiting his whole life to pull up his father’s Roses and apparently took much delight in de-Rosing the family Rose garden. I could only wish I had been at the Great Dixter compost pile when he did this.

I was befuddled that someone could or would collect so many essays for a book on Roses in which the participants disliked, even hated, Roses. I don’t exactly understand hating Roses. Is it that there is just so much in the culture about them that they seem saccharine or trite? Is it the Roses at garden centers that die on people that have given Roses a bad taste in so many people’s minds?

I have found Roses to be very unpretentious, not at all fussy and generous in their Flowers to an extreme degree. As we further expand the Green Hope gardens this summer, Roses seem a natural choice- so much beauty, relatively little work and offering, in the end of the day, amazing, comforting, wise Flower Essences.

After I read these various books, my bed where I was recuperating was covered in lists, lists and more lists of new Roses I wanted to plant here. The Angels were the voice of reason, narrowing down my oversized lists to a more manageable sized one.

In those days of winter quiet, a new rose garden was born- at least on paper and I knew right where it was going- out behind the perennial beds- even if I was sketchy on how exactly it would get dug by a one armed gardener. Now I know how it will get dug – SLOWLY!

As I look at the final list of what is coming, the names flooded me with wonder and excitement- So many new friends! Here is a brief description of what I will be planting-

Louise Odier– a warm pink Bourbon Rose shaded in lilac that blooms vigorously for a very long season- Bourbon Roses were originally created on the French Island of Reunion way out in the middle of the Pacific (we sent a package there this year!). Bourbon Roses are thought to be the result of the island inhabitants mixing Old Blush China Rose (the mother and grandmother of sooooo many Roses) and Autumn Damask, a old Rose from the middle east.

Madame Isaac Perriere– Perriere, the rose breeder behind this Rose, named this one for his wife. Graham Stuart Thomas says “possibly the most powerfully fragrant of all roses; the flowers are enormous, of intense rose-madder, shaded magenta, bulging with rolled petals, quartered and opening to a great saucer face.”

Climbing New Dawn– this blush pink and free flowering climbing Rose is wildly popular and blessedly hardy in our northern world which can’t be said for most climbing Roses

Chorale– an elegant light pink Rose in a classic form.

Pink Pillar– another climber of peachy pink citrus scented Roses, reputed to be hardy here in northern New England- Staffer Sophie’s boyfriend Jim is welding me more Rose Arbors- Can you tell?

Reine des Violettes– she was overpowered by the asparagus patch last time she was planted here at the farm so this time, she gets special spot for her unforgettable blossoms of layered deepening violet pink.

Austrian Copper– a single Rose said to be coppery salmon on its upper petals with some yellow on its lower petals. It is from the same family of Roses as the Yellow Rose of Texas though both Roses come originally from the Caucasus mountains –How it came to be called Austrian I have no idea.

Fantin-Latour– a classic beloved as GST said, “scarcely surpassed in beauty, it is a most satisfying Rose in every way and has a delicious fragrance.”

Mutabilis Rose– a long time Bermuda beloved that will winter in the greenhouse with another Bermuda friend, Old Blush China Rose- This Rose opens one color then transforms to another so that the plant displays salmon pink, orange and yellow Flowers at the same time.

Ispahan– an ancient Damask Rose from Iran with a spicy fragrance, it is described by GST as “neat buds and exquisite half-open blooms…and at all times, a clear and ‘pretty’ pink.”

Old Black Moss– also known as Nuits de Young in France where all the names sound more poetic- Moss Roses have a sort of sticky moss on the leaves protecting each bud. This moss smells spicy like balsam and though it was an accidental mutation, people liked this fragrance and kept working with it to create a whole group of Roses called Moss Roses. GST says “one of the most famous Mosses, and justly so, on account of its distinct habit and foliage, and the size and colouring of its flowers…beautifully burnished with maroon and metallic tones. The small Flowers are of intense maroon purple, dark and velvety, lit by a few golden stamens.”

Charles de Mill– as GST says “a compact shrub which makes one of the best displays every year…as for colour, anything from richest crimson-purple, through maroon to dark lilac and wine shades may be found on any bloom at any time.”

Magnifica– a hardy rugosa Rose with large, fragrant, magenta blossoms. It was first bred by Dr. Van Fleet in 1905. I expect I will love this one as much as Sarah Van Fleet, another Dr. Van Fleet creation.

Henri Martin-this bright clear crimson Rose is a Moss Rose from 1863. GST says it is a particularly graceful plant with “the clearest most intense shade approaching crimson among the Moss Roses that I know” (and GST seems to be on a first name basis with a lot of Moss Roses).
.
Lavender Lassie– a lavender pink Rose of great robustness, this one is a fairly modern Hybrid Musk Rose- Hybrid Musks are disease-resistant, repeat flowering and generally cluster-flowered, with a strong, characteristic “musk” scent.

Mannings Blush– fully double fragrant Rose of white with pink on the petal edges described by GST as “strange but exquisite”- looking forward to seeing what he meant!

Alba Semi-Plena– one of the Roses long grown for Rose oil or attar in Kazanik, Iran, this white Rose has big yellow stamens and GST reports, “a refined air.”

Double Cinnamon– A Rose at least four hundred years old with bark like cinnamon. It is reputed to be very hardy.

Fruhlingsduft– this one is a creamy apricot colored Rose.

Morden Sunrise– a small semi double Rose that starts out yellow and turns to orange and salmon.

Winter Sunset– created by famous American hybridizer Griffin Buck, this one also changes from yellow to orange.

Comtesse de Murinais– an early hybrid from 1813 France, this Moss Rose has double white petals . To quote our old friend GST, “the blush white of the half-open Flower fades, leaving a milk white well formed bloom with a pronounced button eye…a superlative bloom.”

Sydonie- a very ruffled pink Rose from the 1840’s in France- Like Fruhlingduft, Morden Sunrise and Winter Sunset, this is one of the Angel’s choices I don’t know much about.

Ausma Yellow Rose– one of David Austin’s early Roses not under strict patent as all his new ones are- I am trying to see which yellow, salmon, orange, apricot hued Roses will thrive here as they don’t generally seem to be as tough as the other Roses.

and last but not least, I am getting another Mary Queen of Scots Rose because Alika completely took over her spot in the original Rose garden.

So that completes the list of pending arrivals. While this may have been an overshare to list all these Roses, at the very least I hope you have enjoyed Graham Stuart Thomas’ way with words- No one describes Roses like him and his books are easy to find on the internet as sadly, every library in America seems to be discarding them-

On a more cheery note, today, a rainy cool April morning, I am going to go out and begin to mark the location for each Rose’s new home. You CAN teach an old dog new tricks- This time round, I am leaving enough room for each Rose to stretch out to its fullest possible size. Not packing them in as I used to do is a new trick for me.

In a matter of days, William will begin to hear from the colleges he applied to. Jim and I are loathe to see our baby leave the nest. Last night we again tried to suggest that the University of Phoenix was the way to go as he could do his schoolwork in pajamas HERE AT HOME. He seemed to prefer doing his homework in pajamas at an undisclosed location.

Yes……all we know at this point is that Will is going somewhere…..somewhere else. And none of us have even the vaguest idea where that somewhere will be. Will has not let slip any data about his first, second, third or even fourth choice. Not even to his siblings who have tried every trick in the sibling handbook. No matter the ploys used, not a speck of data has been revealed. The burning question remains: will we be driving east, west, north or even south to visit him?

All we know is that the Pajama home plan is not as popular with him as it is with us.

With even his siblings unable to crack his silence, we decided that we owed it to curious friends and neighbors to begin to mark our long wait to know where Will will attend college by blowing black smoke from our woodstove each day until Will announces his decision. What excitement there will be on the hilltop when we mark Will’s moment of decision by burning white smoke. Since it continues to be icy cold, all this smoke still works for us on a number of levels. We will be keeping the neighbors abreast of Will’s decision-making process while keeping our house warm.

A young William declares himself during a game of catch in St John USVI. Would that we had started pushing the University of Phoenix during these more formative years.

As you know if you have even skimmed our Flower Essence Guide, my spiritual beliefs are not exactly tied to one religion. But in my childhood, I went to a congregational church and most of the stories I learned were biblical ones. I liked the stories though I never really understood them. What was going on with Sampson and his hair? Why did all the people have to drown but Noah and his family? Why would a dancing girl want a head on a plate? So many riveting tales but so beyond me.

One story that cropped up a lot was the story of Mary and Martha. Coming from a patriarchal clan that talked ad nauseam about the value of productivity, goals and doing everything perfectly, I came to believe that Martha was on track in her bustle to prepare the food. Much as I loved Mary, I didn’t get her choice to sit around. My family of origin’s motto was, “Work ’til the work is done” which translated into me and one of my brothers doing the chores while other members of the family disappeared to their rooms.

Frankly, I found this disappearing act downright annoying, because it meant I had to do more work before the work could be described as done. It never occurred to me to question whether the work had to get done. Somehow this dynamic got set against the Mary and Martha story in my mind, leaving me feeling both aggrieved and uncertain whether Jesus would approve of me doing the work of several family members or even doing my own chores. There seemed to be the suggestion in the tale that maybe work wasn’t the most important thing. But then why did everyone in my family keep telling me to work ’til the work was done? This story got under my skin but I didn’t know what to do about it. Life seemed to require me to be more Martha than Mary so I just carried on in this vein. For like fifty years.

However, my arm break in November became a literal break from my habitual Martha bustle and an extended journey into Mary world. With my arm casted from top to bottom and pins holding the whole thing together, I found the office world was beyond me as I could not do even simple tasks like screwing on a dropper top on a bottle. In the kitchen, I could boil water but not open a can. Basically there was little I could do even when I tried to use my teeth to breach the gap in my skills.

Shut down from my lifelong “work til the work is done” mindset, I found it oddly restful to sink into a state of just being there. It was wonderfully expansive to settle into having no more specific task than appreciating the simple things like being warm or watching the clouds. In the emptiness, there were so many small joys to savor and always the creator there to visit with and love.

Jim, who by necessity was still wearing his Martha apron, would come home from his teaching job to whip around the home front. When he paused for breath, he would ask me what I had done all day. I had never done anything but my days felt wonderfully full. In my literal brokenness, I had experienced an emptying out that was a time of surprising, restorative peace. Sometimes a mind idea would light a temporary fire of “you can’t just stop doing!” within me, and I would try to do something I couldn’t do, then this mind blip would flame out and I would return to restful stillness and letting go.

With one arm in play, what I expected of myself became very simple. I wasn’t meant to “work til the work is done.” By default, I allowed myself the free pass to Mary territory, and I liked it.

But now both arms are back in play. And everything feels different than before because I see the binding of this “work til the work is done” idea more clearly than before and realize I don’t have to be run by it anymore. Now the roles of Mary and Martha are both choices for me and the story of Mary and Martha has been turned on its head. I see it is not about one person doing it right and another doing it wrong. Instead it is a story of each person finding her way to what she is called to do as an expression of her love for God and as an unwinding of her own individual spiritual bindings. Additionally, there is no need for anyone to think, “I am a Martha and always will be a Martha” as I had long thought. Instead, each moment is a blank slate in which we can seek if this is a Martha moment for us or a Mary moment.

For me this new understanding means going very slowly to figure out what I am supposed to be or do each day, asking for a lot of moment to moment guidance, and accepting that I am going to stumble and fall into my old pattern of doing too much despite my best intentions. I stumble into doing too much because working too much can sometimes feel more comfortable to me than waiting in the unknown to find out what I am meant to do or not do in any given hour. Fortunately, as I ride with training wheels into this new life, I have the blessing of an arm that gets very sore and a system that gets tired quick when I fall back into “work ’til the work is done” mode and this reminds me to stop and go savor the clouds again.

Late winter and it snows every day- all day and all night. Enough with the cold white stuff! Even an inventive, mischievous as well as attractive cat like myself gets bored with indoor projects.

Fortunately there are now knitting projects on every flat surface.

Each project gives me at least a minute or two of pleasure as I mess with the yarn… but then I remember:

it is still snowing out there.

It keeps snowing here in that New Hampshire in February way of things. We expect Winter Storm Hugh to bring us gifts beginning tomorrow night after sweeping across so much of the country. Despite all the snow, we begin to prepare for spring. The brighter light has brought on lots of blossoms in the greenhouse. Here, Calliandra explodes in radiant red balls while the Sweet Olive and Citrus blossoms waft their fragrance into the warm humid air.
My arm is much better. I have been delighted to find that I am able to knit once again something that took me at least a year to be able to comfortably do after the first arm break. Elder stateswoman cat Mishka checked out the hoodie I just knit for Grace and said it would do.

I am so happy to have knitting needles in my hands again and to have the seeds ready to start in the greenhouse in a week or so! I hope spring is showing its encouraging face in your world too!